Right now, I’m thinking about the art of writing and the rules I impose on myself.  “I can’t write if it’s not eloquent, poetic, seo approved, and 600 words in length.” Must. Be. Long.  I think about how often we (the collective we) listen to rules or stories that no longer serve us. “I’ll only be happy if….” And, “I can’t share my story with others because the judgement will be too much to bear.”  

I’ve decided to let you in on a little secret…I’m a deviant. So, let’s break some rules.  Let’s start with some new rules to replace the old ones that no longer serve us!

The first rule of the A.I.R. writing club is: We believe in writing, creating, and sharing our stories and we don’t apologize for how they come out. We believe in working free of resentment, anger, guilt, and resistance. Just get the stories out! Write them in their messy form. Speak them into existence with another person standing as witness and don’t EDIT one thing. Not in the 1st creation anyway. Trust me, I’ve been editing my stories (literally and metaphorically) for way too long.  The second rule: Please refer to #1 as these rules, like its author are…well a work in progress 🙂 More to come later.

My first writing series for A.I.R. will be all about stepping into our vulnerability. The messy, tangled roots of our stories are about to get some air!

I will start by sharing some of the stories I’ve written and follow up with a journaling prompt (see below). And if you are so inclined, I’d love to read what you’ve written.

Vulnerably Yours,

Adina

P.S. If you are a rebel 🙂 & you haven’t signed up for the A.I.R. monthly Newsletter, you can do so here: http://eepurl.com/cucdDf

Dinner Party

Right now, I’m sitting next to John who’s learning chess so that he can find out who killed his mother.  And Sky, a 25 y/o tattoo artist who loves the color black  and her bald headed boyfriend, Red. There’s Ben, a monk turned poet who uses words like loquacious and I think he must build lists of delicious words to take out of his memory bank at just the right moment. Jack has another joke to tell and it almost always involves two individuals walking into a bar. I’m breathing in the hibiscus tea on the table while greeting the first mosquito of the season that lands squarely on my right ankle. Splat. The color of victory now covers a spot on my ankle and hand. My eyes wander over to the inviting succulent garden and take notice of a bee carefully landing on a spiky zebra striped leaf.  Then I wonder…”Bee, what’s your story.”

Journaling Prompt:

If you could have lunch or break bread with anyone living or dead, who would it be? Ask yourself, “What healing advice would this person give me?” And then thank him or her for showing up for you.